


Reassurance

by purewanderlust



Series: Love, Curiosity, Freckles, and Doubt [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Series, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purewanderlust/pseuds/purewanderlust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a close call and his little brother doesn't take it too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reassurance

Sam graduates high school three days after he turns eighteen. He's the last one in his class to cross the stage, stumbling a little on his over-long black robes. When the announcer calls his name, a loud whoop goes up from the front row, followed by a shrill whistle. Sam shoots a glance to the side and sees Dean waving at him, grinning like a madman.

"That's my boy!" he shouts and Sam flushes, a shy smile on his face as he takes his diploma and the camera flashes.

Dad's not there. They haven't heard from him in two weeks, but Dean's beaming presence more than makes up for it.

*

They go out for dinner, after, at Dean's insistence, and he even goes so far as to let Sam pick the restaurant. There's a little Italian place downtown that he probably couldn't get his brother to step foot in under any other circumstances, so he takes his opportunity where he has it.

"First Winchester to graduate high school, Sammy," Dean says by way of explanation, when the waiter places a massive brownie sundae in front of him after their plates have been whisked away. "I'm proud of you, little brother."

Sam tries not to preen under the attention, but he doesn't think he's very successful. 

After they polish off the sundae, they stumble through the parking lot, shoulders pressed together. Sam's feeling pretty good, a warm buzz in his chest, even though he's completely sober, and he's starting to fantasize about leaning sideways and opening his mouth on his brother's throat when Dean's phone rings.

The older Winchester jumps, not quite used to carrying the new cell phone yet, and then hurriedly fishes it out and answers.

Even if he weren't the only one with the number, Sam would be able to tell it's Dad by the way Dean's posture changes; a soldier standing at attention.

"I did....yes sir...South Fremont?....yes sir. We will." his eyes flick to Sam's face, glowing eerily in the orange parking lot lights, "I'll tell him. Alright. Bye, Dad." He disconnects the call, smiles at Sam, but it's uneasy.

"That was Dad," he says unnecessarily, "He said to tell you he was sorry he didn't make your graduation, and to tell you congratulations."

Sam stiffens, biting back a snide retort. Dean looks so hopeful that he can't bring himself to criticize their father, at least not right now.

"And..." Dean's expression suddenly goes shifty, "He needs us to take care of a poltergeist here in town."

"Of course he does." Sam snaps, "That's what we're good for, right?"

"Sammy..." Dean sighs, "I know. I wanted today to just be for you, too, okay?" He pauses, collecting himself, "But, dude, people are getting hurt. The bastard threw a four year-old down a flight of stairs."

"Fine," Sam says, trying not to sound too put-upon. Angry with his father he may be, but he's not gonna let some innocent people get hurt if can do something to help. "We're gonna need to stop off at the grocery store. We're almost out of rosemary."

Dean smiles, relieved, and claps him on the back. "Sounds good. It'll be an in-and-out job, then we can go home and catch some of that double-oh-seven marathon, yeah?"

Sam nods, leaning into the warmth of his brother's touch. "Yeah."

*

Of course, it's nothing like an in-and-out job.

"Dean?" Sam yells, flying up the basement stairs as fast as his legs can carry him. He's gotten his four corners, but the air is still thick with hostility, so he knows his brother hasn't gotten all of the first and second floors yet.

Sam makes it to the living room, just in time to see Dean stuff a charm bag into the easternmost corner of the wall up on the second floor. The poltergeist shrieks, suddenly visible, an grotesque wraith, wild black hair dripping with blood, knife-sharp fangs snarling. With the last of its strength, it flings Dean backwards down the stairs before exploding in a blast of purifying white light.

"Dean!" Sam yelps again, darting forward to where his brother's crumpled form rests at the foot of the far wall. "Dean, are you okay? C'mon, man!"

There's blood dripping down his forehead, but Dean's eyes are open, though tight with pain, and he offers up a hand, so Sam hauls him to his feet.

"Jesus, Dean, are you okay?"

His brother bares his teeth at him in a bloody approximation of a grin, "Sure! 'm a badass, Sammy!" he says, and then his eyes are rolling back in his head and he crumples, Sam barely getting his arms under him in time.

It's the single most terrifying moment in Sam's life.

"Oh my God, Dean? Dean, wake up!"

Dean doesn't respond and Sam thinks he would be well on the way to a full-blown panic attack if it weren't for his father's training. _Don't ever panic, Sammy,_ he hears in his head, _You're no good to anyone if you don't keep your head._

As gently as he can manage, Sam lowers his brother to the floor and starts to systematically check him for wounds with shaking hands. Aside from the gash at his hairline, Dean also has two broken ribs and Sam's infinitely grateful that he didn't just throw his brother into a fireman's carry and book it out of there.

Dean still hasn't come around, though, so Sam scoops him up again, bridal style. They first few steps are a struggle; Dean isn't a small guy to begin with and right now he's completely dead weight. Somehow, though, adrenaline kicks in and Sam gets them to the car and deposits Dean in the back seat, as gingerly as he can manage, trying not to jostle his ribs.

It's not often that Sam gets an opportunity to drive the Impala, but there's no way he can enjoy it right now, not with the way his heart is hammering out of his chest. He glances at Dean in the rearview mirror more than he watches the road and for the first time in a long time, Sam wishes Dad was here.

A groan from the backseat has him jerking the steering wheel in alarm, nearly off onto the shoulder before he regains control of the car. "Dean?"

"Sammy? Are you okay?"

"Oh my God, Dean, you're the one that just got flung into a wall."

"Uh huh. Kinda hurts, too." Dean admits.

"Just, don't go back to sleep, okay? You might have a concussion. Dean?"

Dean doesn't respond, out cold yet again.

Sam floors it, making it to the motel in record time. He struggles to drag his brother out of the car and then carries him in, hoping that no one is peering out from behind the ugly blue polyester drapes on one of the other rooms.

Dean comes to again when Sam is halfway through wrapping his ribs tight with ace bandage (His shirt having been sacrificed to the old scissors in the bottom of Sam's bag), and Sam is glad he opted to wait on the stitches. A closer look reveals that the gash isn't deep enough to need them. He clears off the blood and smears the cut with Neosporin anyway, taping down a couple of butterflies over the widest parts. 

"I got you some water and some pain meds; you might want to take them for your ribs." Sam tells him. "Lemme see your eyes."

Dean raises his green eyes to Sam's compliantly, which would answer the question of a concussion all on its own, but sure enough, his pupils are blown and he looks slightly dazed. Sam sighs and his brother frowns.

"You mad, Sammy?"

"I'm not," Sam says immediately, which is not entirely true. He's not mad at _Dean_. "I'm just worried. You have a concussion and two broken ribs and you're lucky that cut doesn't need stitches."

Dean looks at him, all earnest and apologetic, which probably means that the drugs are kicking in. "Sorry, kiddo."

"Dude, I'm not mad at you. I just don't like seeing you get hurt."

"I'm okay if you're okay." Dean says unexpectedly, putting his hand on the side of Sam's neck and squeezing. "We're fine, Sammy."

Maybe Sam's more shaken than he thought, or maybe it's the feel of Dean's fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, or the reassuring warmth in his brother's eyes, but suddenly it's remarkably easy to lean forward and seal his lips over Dean's.

Dean gasps in surprise and Sam suddenly has the opportunity to explore his brother's mouth, licking across his teeth, tasting the faint copper bite of blood. He's kissed people before, a few times, but it's never been like this. His brother's mouth is soft and perfect and Sam loves him so goddamn much that he's terrified, shaking with it.

It can't last more than a few seconds before Dean's feebly pushing on his shoulder, breath coming out in a sharp wheeze and oh, right, broken ribs. Sam pulls away and immediately the reality of what he's done crashes down on him.

"Sammy, what the hell?" Dean gasps, but he doesn't sound angry like Sam expected. He sounds frightened and Sam can relate as he takes a cautious look up at his brother's face.

Dean's lips are red and spit-slick which makes Sam's stomach heat, so he hastily averts his gaze and looks him in the eyes. His brother's green eyes are wide and scared, irises swallowed completely up by pupil now. He doesn't seem to be able to look at Sam directly, a dull flush creeping across the bridge of his nose.

"I want you." Sam blurts out, his mouth completely out of his control at this point, "And I think you want me too."

Sam watches in amazement as Dean's mouth falls open on an indignant noise, but his eyes dart away from his little brothers, cheeks coloring in pink under his freckles. "That's not...Sam I--we're..."

"So what?" Sam protests, "We've done way worse."

"That's not the point!" Dean snaps and then winces, a hand flying to his ribs.

"What is the point, Dean? I mean, who are we hurting?"

Dean's eyes dart away again. "Sam, this seems like a great idea to you now, but what happens when you meet somebody else?"

"There's never gonna be anybody else," he answers forcefully, and Dean's eyes widen, "Not for me."

"Sammy..." It's a last desperate plea, Sam can recognize one when he hears it, so he pulls his trump card.

"You don't want me?" he asks softly, hoping it's not true, hoping he's reading this right. When Dean's hand closes around his wrist, he knows he is and he gives his brother a shy smile.

"God, Sam, what're you tryin' to do to me?" Dean hisses, and then his mouth is on Sam's again.

It's infinitely better the second time, his brother's hand on his jawline, tilting him just so, teaching him the best way. Dean sucks Sam's lower lip into his mouth, nipping at it with his teeth and Sam groans, head spinning. He can't believe this is actually happening. He wants to crawl on top of his brother and press him into the mattress, but Sam can still hear the telltale whistle on Dean's exhale and he reluctantly pulls back.

Dean's breathing heavily, eyes clouding over with pain, expression unreadable. Something twists in Sam's stomach at that, a coil of fear, but it must show on his face because Dean smiles and tugs him down for a chaste press of lips.

"Kinda sleepy, Sammy," he drawls, hot breath fanning across Sam's face, "Think you can remember to wake me up in a couple hours?"

Sam beams, nodding. "I will," he agrees, and Dean's eyes are already fluttering shut, "Let me take care of you."


End file.
